New #2: Home of the Fry Bread

My neighbors/housemates technically (they live on the bottom unit of the house, we live on top) are an Albanian family of 3, 2 older parents and a middle aged son who moved in last year. The parents are darling, though view of them is limited to the occasional passing in the garden or front yard, as they tend to daily routine activities. They don't speak any English, although their son Maxsim does, but they never fail to wave when we cross paths.

From time to time, my roommates and I are gifted with a plate of food. It typically consists of an unidentifiable dish that Allison has deemed "fry bread-like." Maxsim also happens to be the property manager/quasi-fix it man of the home.. so so kind and exceedingly helpful, he always does what he can to help when something breaks down on us. His accent is thick and sometimes difficult to understand, but he's so genuine and conversational it's hard not to just fake it and act like you know what he's talking about..

But despite our friendly exchanges, our interaction with the family has been limited; our picture of their life has been pieced together only by the bits of information that Maxsim offers as conversational filler space between washing machine repairing and cable installing.

The other day, I locked myself out of the house. Brilliant. I had to call the landlord to let me in, but he was tied up and couldn't make it for half an hour. Maxsim came out and tried to pick the lock, but to no avail. Assuming I'd just wait for the landlord on the stoop in front of my door, I plopped down and pretended to need to make phone calls and texts. Maxsim, standing at his front door right across the foyer left it open and said, "you come in now to wait!" I replied with a cordial but empty "oh thanks!"

With no real intention to take him up on the offer, I remained sitting and fiddled with my phone. I'm sure I subconsciously assumed there would have to be too much intentional conversation and strained formal smiles if I went in and sat awkwardly with Maxsim. But when he offered a second time, I couldn't say no.

Sitting in their living room, I saw his mother peek her small face around the corner of their tiny hallway, smiling briefly and deliberately. His father was watching the Maury show, and I can't deny how intrigued I was at this elderly man who speaks not a single word of English, intently watching Maury administer paternity tests and mediate the slapping and screaming fights between women and their illegitimate "baby-daddys."

I took in the peculiar scent wafting from the kitchen, and chatted with Maxsim about, oh ya know.. the usual stuff. Like how hard it is to meet "good American woman in bar." Despite the empty moments of slightly uncomfortable silence, I learned a great deal during those 20 minutes. I saw pictures of Maxsim's new wife he 'acquired' while visiting his home country, of his young son, and of his extended family. I learned how different the basis for marriage is in Albania, and what the appropriate grounds are for forming that union.

So it was nothing big. I simply sat with my neighbor for a short while, looked through his photo albums, and chatted. But it was new for me to extend more energy than just a quick hand wave or "hello" in effort to connect. I stepped outside the ease of faking phone calls to evade social interaction (don't hate, you know you've done it before) and chose to sit with another human instead, learning some things I didn't know before.